


When We were Young

by CunningFox



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Friendship/Love, M/M, Songfic, The Death Cure Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 20:40:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6023977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CunningFox/pseuds/CunningFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back at the Glade Minho never realized what he had before it was gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When We were Young

**Author's Note:**

> Listen to it while you read-
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WyVS2N8aK-U

**Everybody loves the things you do**

**From the way you talk to the way you move**

**Everybody here is watching you**

**'Cause you feel like home**

**You're like a dream come true**

The boy was an angel. A halo of blond hair and crystal eyes filled with the ocean. He could make a room swell with a field of Ghost Orchids and the warm feeling of cinnamon. His presence was a sunset of salmon hues and gold. His cheeky grin could shine brighter than a hundreds stars.

Gladers were put under his spell as soon as he walked past them. Minho was one of them. He was swept off his feet by the angel, and tugged behind with a red ribbon.

**But if by chance you're here alone**

**Can I have a moment before I go?**

**'Cause I've been by myself all night long**

**Hoping you're someone I used to know**

Somehow, someway that ribbon pulled Minho closer to the angel. Every night the two would meet under the blanket of ink and protection of the shatterproof dome. They would sit at the base of the homestead, careless of if the other Gladers slept. 

 The angel would always sit to the left of Minho. With knees pressed together, they would exchange tales neither having the courage to bring up broken, choppy memories. The other boy would always discuss his day if the conversation grew heavy. The angel would speak with enthusiasm, light hair bouncing with every movement he made.

**You look like a movie**

**You sound like a song**

**My God, this reminds me**

**Of when we were young**

Minho would just stare. Memorized as the boy's azure eyes, tainted by the night, crinkled when he laughed. Observe how the angel would put his hand over his heart to calm his breathing after giggling.

 The boy's voice was soft and would make Minho's mind fuzz. Smooth and milky, his foreign accent making his stories sound so much more special. Minho always wished he could take a box and trap the sound in there, like a seashell lost from the sea. Wish he could reach out and protect the angel, to guard him.

**Let me photograph you in this light**

**In case it is the last time**

**That we might be exactly like we were**

Minho's head swam with the image of a camera with black and white filter. He wished he could snap a photo of the Angel. Wish he could use the picture as a memoir of the boy. But the picture could never replace the real thing. The fairy features of the boy, his high cheekbones and his strong jaw. The sky in his eyes that made Minho drift away on a cloud.  Golden curls that unreeled on top of his head, a simple treasure but an expensive one. A picture could never capture the way his eyes sparkled when he smiled.

_"Minho?"_

**Before we realized**

**We were sad of getting old**

**It made us restless**

**It was just like a movie**

**It was just like a song**

"Let's dance."

 The words would startled the Angel, his foggy orbs glazing over with recognition. The pair always had a sense of how music would sound, the springy tune bouncing elegantly through their heads.

 Minho would pull the Angel onto his bare feet, and tug him close. He would lace the other's petite hand through his own, and rest his other hand on the angel's hip. Minho would feel a free hand shyly sneak onto his shoulder. They would twirl with the grace of elephants, always giggling when they felt the latter stomp on their foot. Minho would hum a familiar tune and watch as the angel's face would glow, and his cerulean eyes would slip closed.

 Those were the times that Minho craved.

 

**I was so scared to face my fears**

**Nobody told me that you'd be here**

**And I swear you moved overseas**

**That's what you said, when you left me**

 

Dancing soon felt like an old memory as soon as the Glade fell in a volcano of chaos. Minho would barely sleep, mind racing with unhealthy imagines, and eyes never able to focus on the big picture. The Angel would sacrifice himself for the other gladers, holding their hands as a life support. The two would spare glances at one another. The angel's eyes would scream at him, tell him to run, to hide, but Minho would never leave him.

**You still look like a movie**

**You still sound like a song**

**My God, this reminds me**

**Of when we were young**

The Angels cobalt orbs were framed with dark purple, the colors clashing making the male's ageless face, seem worn and broken. Minho saw him the same. He would notice the small grins the Angel would send, notice how the candle lit within the boy would always pulse with his every move. The Angel's smell would sweep over him, a wall of flowers and spices that indulged Minho in a blanket and hot-chocolate.

 Minho would still converse with the Angel during the day on occasion. The stressed voice of the Angel would still be of rigidness, the sound making Minho more tempted to hug close and hold him for eternity.

 

**Let me photograph you in this light**

**In case it is the last time**

**That we might be exactly like we were**

**Before we realized**

**We were sad of getting old**

**It made us restless**

**It was just like a movie**

**It was just like a song**

**When we were young**

 

They would escape Phase One and Two, and become victors.  The angel's face would light up in excitement and tears swarm his indigo eyes as he would jump onto Minho and hug him till his arms ached in fatigue. Smiles would be spread back and forth rocking like a new park swing.

 In that moment Minho felt bliss.

 But nothing would ever be perfect.

 

**It's hard to admit that**

**Everything just takes me back**

**To when you were there**

**To when you were there**

**And a part of me keeps holding on**

**Just in case it hasn't gone**

**I guess I still care**

**Do you still care?**

The flare was a monster. A brain controlling limitless killer.

 The Angel's eyes would be invaded by fury, insanity peaking through the beautiful blue. His hair would be greasy, slimy with grit and disheveled. The two would fight which would make Minho's heart throb when he saw how lost the Angel was. The Angel was being shoved away, kidnapped, by an unstoppable bloodthirsty beast. 

Minho would remember how as soon as he was alone, he cried until he lapsed into an unsteady rest.

 

**It was just like a movie**

**It was just like a song**

**My God, this reminds me**

**Of when we were young**

**When we were young**

Minho would beg to have the photo of the Angel. To prove that the Saint was real. Even though the boy's voice could never be recorded, or the angel's true beauty masked in his expressions.

 Minho could still imagine the nights the two would sway to nothing but the buzzing of the Glade. It was beginning to fade, the memory tasting warm and fluffy. Minho attempted to grasp onto the memory to follow it, and attach the broken red string on to it. 

 

**Let me photograph you in this light**

**In case it is the last time**

**That we might be exactly like we were**

**Before we realized**

**We were sad of getting old**

**It made us restless**

**Oh I'm so mad I'm getting old**

**It makes me reckless**

**It was just like a movie**

**It was just like a song**

**When we were young**

He missed Newt.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm laughing at how anticlimactic this is.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
